We’re quick to forget the winter, see
March grow up, fill out
Gaping maw of rowed-out teeth
Only a week and a half back, now
.
A grey pan-handled woman scritching –
.
“Gash that evening gaze! It curls
Nip-lock heat bites skin”- and
“Quick, black fish! Huddle slick and tight
And take your pick from my feet!”
.
Hemlines creep, a guignol curtain
Your thighs
Are not those of last summer, those
Spreading Charleville trees.
.
Turn the oysters in their beds and
Soak them in cider, girl.
.
We’re too quick to lose the winter,
March is butchered, dried and hung
While a hundred children kick the heads
Off a hundred thousand forget-me-nots.
.
Suddenly, we are cold.
Suddenly, we are old.